Always With You
by Ori R. Smith
Summary: "You are not the same fledgling as I remember," wise eyes narrowed, a small curl adorning aged lips as they met shoulder to bicep. Amber burning with the rays of the setting sun met him, his grey hair like ash, strands falling in front of his face as he leaned forward slightly, a gentle hand clasping her shoulder. "But nonetheless, you are now my responsibility as well, I suppose."
1. Chapter 1

_**1.**_

A light warmth grazed over glistened skin, the pale pink flush blooming in the golden fire illuminating in the dark room, casting shadows that danced along the walls as amber pools engulfed the light beside them, glistening with curiosity as they followed the dark figures on the walls. A heavy breath rolled from rosy lips, soothing cracks it coated in a light sheen of mist. But a voice cracked with a gentle groan, a joint giving a pop as arms moved, elbows flat on the wooden floor the figure lay upon, propping the upper-half of the body up, allowing her a better view for greedy eyes. The room was small, but filled with various trinkets along the walls and shelves; book cases where they fit along the back wall; two arm chairs nestled in front of her, close to the fire with foot-rests in front of them; two oak coffee tables at their respected chairs, though the attention was settled on the small framed pictures that adorned the mantle of the fireplace.

She was in a well-kept home, she assumed, slowly pushing herself to sit up more, but a small gasp escaped her as muscles screamed and ached, leaning be their extent at the moment. They burned when supporting her weight, crying to stay dormant for just awhile longer, but she fought through it, detesting the feelings that were bought upon her frail form. But her legs that wobbled like a newborn fawn managed to hold her up, with some support from the mantle, despite their wobble and ache. Her knees gave a slight tense and weakness to them as she began to walk, but no attention was paid to how close her head came to the arched ceiling, nor the around door-way that her head come into harsh contact with, stunning her momentarily. Slender hands reached up as she croaked with a small, "Ah," and gently rubbed the angry spot on her forehead, her other hand steadying her against the frame as she began to duck under it. Looking down, it was then she noticed her feet and legs were bare up to below her knees, and the fabric she wore was plain and white, soft and flowing and was quite loose on her slender frame.

It was then she turned, an alert running through her mind as her eyes jumped around the room, scanning for the armor she adorned before. Exiting the room in a fluster, she began peeking and snooping, slowly gaining a grace in her walk. It was down a narrow hallway she flew, peeking into rooms; a study, dining room, kitchen, pantry, glory room, foyer - there she stopped. Nestled on the wall lay large golden plates, articulate details engraved into them, though they looked worn and old, dried mud encasing them. She sighed, almost longingly as she stooped at the knees, finger tips gracing over the chest plate, the fine edge that came out from the front of it to a point. Her ears, no longer keen, failed to notice the small patter of steps from behind, until a throat was cleared, and her body whipped around, thin strands of flaxen waves falling to her face as she met hazel eyes that looked at her in surprise, though his demeanor seemed to fight to stay calm. A pounding in her chest rumbled, eyelashes fluttering to narrow and her muscles became taunt. The small being in front of her took a small step back, his large feet covered in brown curls silent on the hard wood, but a nervous smile came across his lips and when he spoke, something in him seemed innocent as she stood to her full height, the best ability in this small house. "You're awake," came a gentle voice, a relief blowing from it. "I-I wasn't sure if you would wake from the fever. It was awful."

But when confusion flashed in her features, and her shoulders dropped their taunt state, he eased forward, keeping his eyes up to her face. She was unsure what this tiny person was talking about, but as her finger tips brushed her cheeks, she could feel a heat resonating from the, so perhaps that would explain the heaviness within her mind. Bodies were not made to stay above certain temperatures. But to the matter at hand, she eyes that she found focused on the floor, lost in thought, flashed to the hazel ones still on her. She assumed, as the rest of the house was silent, the sun slowly beginning to rise on the horizon and peek through the small curtains in round windows, that this must be the keeper. The one who nursed her back from her ill state. A horror flashed through her mind, remembrance; rust colored mud around her feet, rain pouring down from the heavens above, and a searing burn in her body. "You saved me." she stated, now completely relaxing as she was obviously among no harm.

A pink flush came over the smaller persons cheeks, his eyes averting to the floor, and a hand ruffled through light brown curls on his head. "Oh, well, now, I - " he paused for a moment, suddenly fiddling with the suspenders hook to his trousers and he smiled lightly. "Yes, I- I suppose I did!" a light chuckle, and with his bashful behavior she felt the corners of her mouth twitch. She found a fondness in her heart looking at this small person, and though she had nothing to offer, she owed him everything.

"And for that, I thank you," she told him, gratitude seeping from her voice.

He nodded, a smile of his own on his face, as he gave slightly bow before politely introducing himself. "Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End, where you stand now, My Lady."

A sigh came to her lips at the weight of her own name, and having to give it to him. But nonetheless, she placed her hand to her chest, the other resting on the small of her back and she gave a low bow, flaxen hair spilling over her shoulders. "Alta, I am called."

An initial shock came to his face watching her bow so low, but he cleared it up and waved her away from such a deep formality. "Well, Miss Alta, I would say that the sun is high enough that we've missed second breakfast! So, I believe that is in order, yes?" he offered, holding out a small hand and gesturing her to his small kitchen through another room that held a stack of maps and book upon a table. As she nodded and walked ahead, she could hear him cough slightly and paused in her tracks, glancing over her shoulder. He averted his gaze and scurried past her. "After, I believe some suitable clothes are in order and perhaps I can help you find your way home."

Blinking at his form that disappeared around the corner, she looked down at her feet as she curled her toes, and held the sides of her nightgown, curious on what was wrong with such attire. But as the last words of his sentence rang in, her amber eyes were drawn to the multiple maps on the small table and a part of her doubted she would be able to find home again.


	2. Chapter 2

_**2.**_

A yawn echoed through the hole of where our story began. No, not a wet, nasty hole, but a _Hobbit _hole, and that meant home; a warm hearth, a full belly, family, friends and a soft bed to rest the tired body on. A homey-home that sat upon a hill, looking over the beautiful village of Hobbiton as the sun began too rise this morning. Fires still burning and illuminating where light had not touched yet for those gallivanting this early in the day.

It had been a fortnight since Bilbo Baggins had rescued the woman sitting in his gathering room, a candle in her hand that made her face glow, her age showing in the low light of the small flame. From what Alta had told him, she has no recollection of the night she appeared on his door step, giving him near short of a heart attack as she stood there, soaked to the bone in rain and a cold sweat, blood seeping from a filthy wound on her side, and covered head to toe in mud. Pulling her in, like the good hobbit he was, and using some of the methods his mother had taught him in herbs and medicines, the mud covering his home was the last thing on his mind as he tended to her and nursed her back to health. So far, she had survived, fighting off the fever, but he was no fool. He saw in the way she walked and moved that the gash in side still bothered her and was as tender at the day she got it. He wanted to vomit at the sight of it, when he peeled away the wet fabric that stuck to her body. There it reached, gaping, from her shoulder blade to her hip, and how she managed to survive that had been the grace of Valar, he supposed, that she was here now.

Taking a cautious step forward as not to startle her, Bilbo realized that some days, she was very jumpy like a wild animal. It was when she looked up, his hazel eyes clashing with amber did he no longer walk upon eggshells. "I did not mean to disturb you," she told him, hanging her head, her loose curls slowly falling from the knot that rested atop.

Tightening the wraps around his house coat, he cleared his throat and sat down beside her on the small bench that was in his hallway. It was silent between the two of them for the moment as he fixated on a spot on the wall. There were many nights he would wake up early and find her sitting here, watching intently at his front door as though she were anticipating someone to break it through. Though, Bilbo was no stranger to sleepless nights. If he were to be honest, he's had plenty of them, where he would sit and admire the stars from his bedroom window and wonder just how far away they are from him, or where he could go to see them closer and clearer. Would wait for one to fall, one where he could make a small wish upon it. "Well, if it is to help any," he began, watching her face turn towards him from the corner of his eye, her body hunched over and elbows locked on her knees. His fixation now came to her face, one that looked up him with curiosity and wonder, like it did with so many things. Alta was so strange to him, and fascinating with the simple things that confused and astounded her, as though she had never heard of it before. "When I was younger and couldn't sleep, my mother use to tell me stories."

A smile came over her face as she gazed at him through low lashes. Alta was a wonder to him, as he was to her. She was kind and gentle, unlike anyone he had ever seen, and though she looked aged beyond surly what was her years, there was a strange innocence to her being that made him look at her in awe, especially from the stories of war she had told him. But her stories, the things that Bilbo loved most, were unlike anything he had ever heard when she spoke of her home to him. It could almost compare to that of the Elves in description, and he loved tea-time in the evenings as she would speak and he would slowly drift off to the warmth of the fire and her voice. "Perhaps then, Bilbo, tonight it is your turn to tell stories," she gave him a small wink, one that bought a small flush to his cheeks as she stood, the clock chiming as it was now time for breakfast, and she sauntered off.

An agreement had been made between the two of them, that each day they would share the load of cooking since she was slowly becoming a resident to Bilbo's home (after several failed attempts at cooking, and fires that needed to be doused). It was only to be a few nights, he had reminded himself several nights in a row, until she could find home and a way to get there. But it was then, as they looked over his many, many maps, that she recognized none of which she saw. It confused him greatly, but that had left them at another dilemma. Later on, he had found out that she could not go back home either way. She was banished by her father and tossed down like she was nothing. Alta figured that by now, she was forgotten and gone to her entire family. She did not talk about the happenings of why, but Bilbo felt it was not his place to pry (though, a part of him nagged, wanting to know what she had done that was so horrible to be banished from her home). She would tell him when she felt it was time, and he would do well to respect that decision.

But today, Bilbo felt would be a good day.

With a hum, and a deep breath, he stood up and tightened his house coat once more, taking a step in the direction to go and getting dressed, and he listened to the sound of humming from his kitchen as he made his way there. Did the Shire talk of the fact Bilbo Baggins had a woman, unwed, no less, living him his house with him? Of course they did. He mused, shutting his door and beginning to strip. But even though he enjoyed gossip as much as the next hobbit from him, he could honestly say that it was no one's business but his and her's that she was there with him. Stopping to look at the pastel yellow vest in his hands, he let out a small sigh. He would not lie, he had slowly became lonely in his times of living alone, and Alta seemed to just show up at the perfect moment for him. She was wonderful, and a woman's touch around his house was something that he began to crave, but it was not in the way he was afraid people would assume. It was only her companionship he craved as he became accustomed to her every day. But as he slipped on his vest and began buttoning it, pressing his back against the little round bedroom door to open it, he knew that she could not stay forever. A part him to realize that the solitary life was not for her - she was a warrior, it was clear by the armor she bore and the scars upon her skin, the fog that sometimes settled in her eyes. But then again, the other part of him that perched on his shoulder, reminded him that she was an outcast, banished, would most likely be killed on sight if she were to return to her home, wherever it may be.

Inhaling deeply, he caught the scent of fresh bread rolling through the house and this is what he meant. He figured, he would allow her a moment to himself, grabbing his pipe and tobacco pouch from the shelf by the door before heading out it, enjoying the fresh air that greeted him. Bilbo was always around Alta, he admitted, part of being him afraid of another fire in his home starting, or just her company in general. Sitting down on his bench inside his little fence, close to his door, surrounded by his small garden, he stuffed a little tobacco in his pipe and began to relax in a good smoke his morning until a voice would call him back inside.

But little did Bilbo Baggins know, that today, would most certainly not be a good day for him or his household as a grey cloak fluttered in the wind in the distance, and grey pointy had grew closer to the hobbit's hole. As for this - strange, but not so unknown - stranger had things in mind. Things that such a person of Bag End or the Shire in general would surly consider blasphemy against their way of life. As in this little pocket of the world, everything was quiet, and nothing unexpected ever happened, but as he was broken from his state of relaxation by an much bigger, older gentleman standing very well right as his gate, practically looming over him! But as respectable and polite as this hobbit was, he nodded to the bundle of grey cloaks. "Good morning," he offered, and yes, it was a very good morning.

Catching the poor fellow off-guard, Bilbo felt the tip of his pipe fall slightly from his parted lips as he gazed at the character before him that shifted, grey eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" he asked, and the hobbit became flustered with the conversation, listening to this rant. "Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it to be or not?" there was a pause, and only the face of a twitching fish in response. "Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning, or are you simply stating that this is a morning to feel good on?"

For all the love in the word, never did Bilbo Baggins believe that someone could make such a simple gesture so complicated. Albeit confused, he remained polite. "All of them at once, I suppose," if this fellow couldn't make up his mind, this hobbit may as well be done with it and do it for him. But that was when the elder man gave him another look of scrutiny, letting out a soft and disapproving hum. Feeling very uncomfortable, he clears his throat and asks: "Can I help you?"

"That remains to be seen," a small bead of sweat dripped down the brunettes temple as his eye darted around, wondering just what was happening here. But what Bilbo didn't know is that his next words, would be the start of what would change his life drastically, entirely, forever. If for the better or worse, who would ever know until the end of it all. "_I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure_."


End file.
